Tag: prompt

The Classroom

I recently wrote a short story for the prompt “Start or end your story with someone arriving somewhere for the first or last time”. I hope you enjoy!

I remember the first time I walked into that classroom. It was bright, welcoming, almost calling to me. The posters on the wall beckoned me to examine them- those childish drawings of friendly animals, the bubbly lettering a symbol of happiness, of comfort. I met my best friends in that classroom, when we were sitting around a multicolored rug. I remember the teacher- Ms. Miller- reading a ridiculous book. Something about dinosaurs in classrooms. It was all so perfect, so sweet, so innocent.
That’s all I can think about as I step back in the classroom- almost a millenia later. I shouldn’t be here. None of this is right. But the sun’s implosion was unexpected, especially as it shouldn’t have happened. All science predicted a collapse, anticipating the formation of a white dwarf. So, when the implosion happened…it caught everyone off guard. Not everyone survived. It happened so suddenly; a massive shockwave rippled through the streets. Buildings were hit especially hard. Not to mention, everything started working differently. People aged differently, the seasons merged into one, and most schools shut down. The world returned to an almost Pre-Neolithic era; no more complex societies, humans were on their own. In short, the sun’s implosion was an apocalypse of sorts.
And now I’m back. In the place where my first memories began. The classroom was found to have dangerous sources of radiation, set to be destroyed, but…I couldn’t just never see it again. The desks are pushed up against the wall, the very same mat I remember dragged to the center of the room. It’s…painful, in a way, to see this place of life, of vibrancy reduced to a room of ash and rubble. And soon, it’ll be gone. Gone, just like the park I used to play in and the house I called mine. Everything’s gone. Everything will be gone. Forever.

The Meteorite Sample

Meteorite samples weren’t unusual, per say, but this was my first time dealing with one. Exciting for sure, but also nerve-wracking. The bosses were strict about anything from space- even the smallest misstep could lead to your reassignation to a lower, dingier job. So. No pressure or anything. The sample I’d gotten was small, just a speck really, especially compared to what Alice, at desk 9, had. But everyone had to start somewhere, right? So the speck it was. 

I’ve worked at the lab for a good 3 years now. 3 years before I finally got to do what I’d always wanted. 3 years to achieve my greatest dreams. I’d spent all morning fiddling with the microscope, knowing that if I messed this up, I’d miss my opportunity. For good. And that…that would be awful. 

When the sample was finally delivered to my station, I had to physically hold myself back to not tear open the packaging. Careful…careful. This thing is worth more than your entire life. The meteorite sample I’d gotten was barely a shard, but it was enough. My hands shook as I carefully lifted the sample out of its package and set it on a slide, placing it under the microscope. As I adjusted the lens, twisting it ever so carefully to zoom into the rugged surface of the rock, something that looked almost like words caught my eye. But…surely not. How could there be English words on an outerspace rock? But as the lens panned across the meteorite, it was clear- words carved deep into the rock: “If you see this, call this number. Do not tell anyone”.

My hands shook. But in my mind, there was only one thing for me to do- call the number.

Imaginary Friend: A Poem

I wrote a poem for the prompt ‘Imaginary Friend’. I hope you enjoy!

they want me to hate you
they want me to be rid
they want me to not love you
anymore

i could never hate you
i could never lose you
i will always love you
for evermore

but they want me to hate you
they tell me to be rid
they force me to not love you
anymore

i tell them i can’t hate you
i promise them i’d never lose you
and i swear i will always love you
for evermore

Did you have an imaginary friend growing up?

Maybe In Another Life

I recently saw a writing prompt which was, “Write a story that includes the phrase “Maybe in another life.””. Here’s what I wrote! I hope you enjoy!

A pink umbrella. It was unusual, to say the least. But Elion couldn’t help but follow it, silently tracing its pattern through the rain, watching as it bobbed and weaved its way over to the small alley where Elion was working. She held her breath, hand pausing over the canvas which was just beginning to be drawn on.
“It’s raining.” The owner of the umbrella’s voice was playful, though its melodious lilt wasn’t lost on Elion.
“Yeah. I’m not an idiot.” Elion was sharp in her retaliation, though she couldn’t help but feel strangely…captivated by this stranger- with her pink hair that matched her umbrella and by her hat with its small, but bright pawprint.
The stranger laughed brightly, “Didn’t think you were. Do you not have an umbrella?”
There wasn’t much Elion could say in response. She shook her head, turning back to the painting, studying in it the faint glow of the streetlamps. “No. I like the rain”.
The stranger cocked her head, though her voice was as bright as ever, “You’ll ruin your outfit. And your painting,” She held out the umbrella, an almost dare in her eyes, the water droplets catching the light- and Elion’s eyes- as they fell off the umbrella, “Here. Take it”
Elion furrowed her brow, “…What about you? You’ll be the one ruining your outfit, then.”
The stranger just winked at Elion, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
And with that she was gone. Had turned and walked away, ignoring Elion’s protests of “Wait! I don’t…”
Elion trailed off in frustration, her hand wrapped tightly around the umbrella. She studied it, a small smile on her face. It was pretty. And…and quite thoughtful.
Her thoughts turned back to the pink-haired stranger. How confident she was. How playful. Picking up her canvas, she tucked it back into her bag, thinking to herself as she got up. Maybe…maybe in another life, things would’ve been different. Maybe they could’ve gotten to know each other more. Maybe the only remnant Elion had of her wouldn’t have been the umbrella.
Maybe.

The Summoning

I wrote this short story based on the prompt “Start your story with people arriving at a special ceremony”. I hope you enjoy!

Suspicious glances were thrown around the circle as everyone lined up in order. For a good reason, really. If anyone had caught word that they were here, that the ten people currently holding hands, cloak hoods drawn securely over their faces were traitors to the king, traitors to the country they stood for, well, there was no doubt. They’d surely be dead in a matter of seconds. No matter that the queen had called them there or that each of them were high advisors of the court. No, no matter their status, their heads would be adorning the wall the next day. A warning more than anything, proof that their king was all-mighty and to be respected.
In unison, the ten gathered around the fire, dropping each other’s hands and pulling out their letters. The queen had hand-written each one on the palace’s finest stationery, the cursive loops elegant, fitting of a queen. A quick glance wouldn’t procure anything out of place, no, everything would seem just as it should be. But reading the letter, even holding it, would be the worst form of treachery- conspiring against the king.
The letter was short, to the point: “Meet tomorrow. 11 pm. Summon whatever you must. Rid this city of my husband.” With practiced ease, as ten hands flung the letter into the fire, watching as the flames greedily gobbled up the parchment, the only remnant, ashes.
A figure stepped forward, the unofficial leader of the night. It was understood, without saying a word, that this was the spellcaster. The one who would be doing the summoning. They withdrew a handful of salt, tossing into the fire, chanting the words written oh-so-carefully on the back of the parchment. They were memorized to a T, their ancient words slipping off their tongue in practiced fashion.
Soon enough, a figure began to rise from the center, its body seemingly forming from nothing, the mist coalescing into a ragged shape of a figure. Its voice roared around the open field, more than one person clasping their hands over their ears.
“Who dares summon me to your pitiful excuse of a realm?” Looking around to see cowering figures, the brute smiled- a terrifying, ghastly smile, but a smile all the time, “Ah. I see. What a bunch of cowards.”
With a sweep of its arm, the pasture was set ablaze, the screams of the cloaked figures just white noise to its ears. It didn’t take long for the fire to spread, to burn throughout the town, to run up the buildings. A proclamation of chaos, a foreshadowing of death.
That was the last sight to many- a city on fire, the smoke choking the sky, the fumes thick and stifling. Within a few hours, it was all gone. The city was burnt to ashes. The ritual hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but, well, it had worked. The king was dead. Long live the queen.

The Shadow: Poetry Prompt

Hi! I wrote this short story from the prompt, “You wake up trapped in a strange castle with no memory of how you got there and there’s something lurking in the shadows as you explore the halls.”. I hope you enjoy!

There was a faint, dull throbbing in Emery’s head as she looked up to see stone, more stone than she’d ever seen in her life, elaborate windows, and a gorgeous, gorgeous view of rolling hills and green pastures. She sat up, pressing a hand to her forehead, adjusting the tiara (tiara?) that sat on her head, walking over to the window. The glass was cool to touch, foggy with condensation, and she resisted the urge to draw on it, to sit there and doodle and forget her senses and why she was there and really where she was.
She took a deep breath, walking over to the door, and pulling it open with a sense of finality. The hallway was deserted, completely silent. Emery’s gaze darted to the side, seeing a faint wisp of something, something dark, menacing, hiding in the corner, a shadow, really. It called to Emery, telling her to touch it, to let its cool, refreshing solitude wash over her. 
Emery blinked and the moment was gone, the voice of the shadow just a figment of her imagination. Maybe the whole castle is too. Maybe I’ll wake up in just 5 minutes and I’ll never see this place. Wouldn’t that be nice. She continued walking down the hallway, pausing as a stairway appeared in front of her, so sudden it was like it was enchanted. She risked a glance behind her, watching the shadows in the corner shrink and grow, pulsing towards her. She pushed down her growing sense of dread and continued up the staircase, counting the steps as she did, pushing open a small door at the top of the stairs to open up into a small room. One of the castle’s turrets, she would assume, a square one. 
The shadow was back.
It sat at the top of the stairs, as if waiting for Emery to turn around and notice it. Emery closed her eyes. On top of everything, this…creature (?) just had to be following her. As she turned around to examine the room, its voice spoke in her head once more, loud, bold, unafraid. I know you want to go home…Emery. Or Emmie. That’s what they call you isn’t it? And you hate it, but I bet you’d be ok with being called Emmie if it got you out of here. If it got you away from me.
Emery closed the book she was studying with a thud, letting the cover slam down on its antique, ink-ridden pages. She shook her head. She was imagining things, because shadows couldn’t talk, let alone talk in people’s heads, and this place must be making her dream. It must all be a dream and she would wake up and be normal and go to school and live her normal life and-
You know, it’s sweet how you have all these hopes and dreams. Most people that end up here don’t. And so, they end up being these unsatisfying hosts, but you. You’re different. Aren’t you, Emmie?
The shadow was almost on top of her. And then it was in her and then it was her and her thoughts and the shadow’s thoughts were just one and the same and there was no distinguishing, no real difference between the two.
The shadow wanted a host, after all. And it had gotten one.